


Last Minute

by HotMolasses



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, and angst apparently, and character development so I'm told, honestly that describes the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:19:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotMolasses/pseuds/HotMolasses
Summary: Will felt the brush of Hannibal’s fingertips on the side of his cheek, and he inhaled sharply. The memory of their victorious battle swirled in his blood and became heat that coalesced on his skin where Hannibal’s fingers brushed him.Hannibal pulled his hand away, and Will plunged into emptiness.“Wait.”He felt Hannibal freeze.“Come back.”





	

They hadn’t spoken much for the past two months. After falling from the cliff, Will had awoken, alive and stitched-up, in a bed in a house somewhere, with Hannibal sitting in the armchair beside him, reading a book. He’d always assumed Chiyoh had been involved in their living, somehow, but had never asked. He didn’t want to know. He was supposed to be dead.

The house was either one of Hannibal’s safe houses, or the home of someone he’d killed to give them shelter. Will didn’t ask about that, either. He didn’t ask about anything. He ate what was provided to him, knowing what it probably was, and did nothing. He didn’t call Jack. He didn’t call Molly. He didn’t leave. He didn’t speak. 

After they had healed enough to be able to move (mostly) normally around the house, Will could sense a growing tenseness in Hannibal. After his first few attempts to get Will to open up, he’d given up on talking as well. The silence between them was thick and unpleasant. Will couldn’t care.

He wasn’t sure if ‘angry’ was the right word to describe his emotions, but it was closest. But he couldn’t name who he was angry  _ at _ . It wasn’t Hannibal. He had only done exactly what Will had known he would do. He’d acted exactly within his nature. It wasn’t Jack; he, too, had played his role as he always had, continuing to be the same person he’d always been.

It had to be himself, then; but he couldn’t figure out what he was angry  _ about _ . Freeing Hannibal? Enjoying killing the Dragon with him? Throwing them both over the cliff?

_ It’s beautiful _ .

He slammed the book he’d been reading down on the nightstand so heavily the legs rattled, then he rolled over and shut off the light.

The next day, Will awoke to Hannibal sitting in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee, the pot still fresh. He walked over and poured himself a cup and went to leave the room, as he always did.

“Wait.” Hannibal said, and it was the first word spoken between them in days, rare enough so that Will did, indeed, wait.

Hannibal pulled open a drawer over the cabinet and slid out two plane tickets. He put them on the counter, and said nothing else. Will walked over and glanced down at them. Tickets to Cuba, with two fake names. Two.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” Hannibal said, his voice cracking with pain. Will’s heart seemed to shatter with it, a thousand fissures splintering across the surface at the sound of Hannibal’s anguish. “I know that until now I have not asked you to make a decision. But as of tomorrow, you will either be on the plane with me, or you will not.”

Will nodded, once, to show he had heard. He turned and left.

By nightfall, Will hadn’t made a decision. He lay in his bed, facing away from the door, staring out the window at the night sky. The stars were bright. The moon was new. Their plane left at noon and they had to leave for the airport by 7am to make it there. He glanced at the clock. It said ten. He had nine hours to decide the course of the rest of his life.

He tried weighing pros and cons, but that sort of thinking fell to dust when Hannibal was involved. If he attempted to apply logic to the situation, he should go back to Molly. Hannibal was insane, was a serial killer, ate people, and had tried to kill Will three times. A life with him would almost certainly end with Will dying young or becoming incarcerated. There were literally no pros. 

And yet, he could not decide.

The door to his room creaked further open. He’d left it open a crack, probably on purpose. He’d given up on trying to discern reasons for his own behavior a long, long time ago.

He didn’t need to turn to know Hannibal was standing in the doorway. 

“Are you going to hover on my periphery forever?” Will snapped. It was the first complete sentence he’d said since the day he’d broken Hannibal out of the BSHCI.

He heard the soft footfalls of socked feet cross the floor and felt the heat of Hannibal standing over him. 

“I had hoped… to be able to convince you.” Hannibal said, his voice soft and full of regret. Will didn’t like the sound of regret on him. It didn’t suit him.

“Then convince me.”

He felt the bed dip as Hannibal sat on the edge of it. Heard him let out a shaky exhale, as if he were a young student preparing to give his speech about why he should be allowed entrance into university.

“I have been attempting that for years, Will. Since the day I met you. And for a moment, I thought I had succeeded.”

Will swallowed thickly, his mind replaying again the moment when they had killed the Dragon together, and for the first time, he didn’t push the thought away. He let it play out; allowed himself to lock gazes with Hannibal over their enemy, allowed his heart to remember how it swelled with passion and joy. Watched Hannibal leap upon his back, all animal, beast fully unleashed, feral and wild. Remembered the brilliant glow that encapsulated his heart when he plunged his knife into his enemy’s gut and slashed without hesitance, without holding back.

Will felt the brush of Hannibal’s fingertips on the side of his cheek, and he inhaled sharply. The memory of their victorious battle swirled in his blood and became heat that coalesced on his skin where Hannibal’s fingers brushed him.

Hannibal pulled his hand away, and Will plunged into emptiness.

“Wait.”

He felt Hannibal freeze.

“Come back.”

When the fingertips returned, they were somehow even gentler than before, barely brushing along Will’s face. He tilted his head upward, pushing closer into the touch, and then Hannibal responded, bringing his entire palm to rest against Will’s face.

“Will?” he asked.

“Just don’t… leave.” Will replied. He couldn’t go after Hannibal; he couldn’t follow him to Cuba and to a life of murder and crime and being on the run… but when Hannibal touched him, he couldn’t pull away, either. He couldn’t leave him. Couldn’t follow, couldn’t leave. Which materialized into him doing nothing, staying with Hannibal silently for the past two months, not acting towards any decision.

He felt a shaky breath wash over him, and Hannibal’s fingers moved up to stroke through his hair. Will shut his eyes and felt warm; warmth spreading from his scalp to his ears and down his neck, making his entire body tingle. He didn’t need to make any decisions with his brain; his heart made them all for him. 

Hannibal leaned his body in closer so that his hip pressed up against Will’s back. Will rolled into it so they were closer, his breath shaky and uneven while Hannibal continued to stroke his fingers through his hair. His other hand came up to his cheek and traced over the angry pink scar that now marred his face; one more reminder that this life was something that was going to follow Will no matter where he went, Cuba or anywhere.

The only real question was whether he was going to be in it alone or not.

“How often I have longed to show you my passion, Will.” Hannibal said.

His heart sprang into his mouth. Two months of hardly speaking, and the first real thing he says is  _ that _ ?

“I fear this may be my last opportunity to show you. So I shall directly ask.”

Will’s heart was hammering in his chest. He reached up and grabbed Hannibal’s hand and pulled it to his chest so he could feel it.

“Then show me.” he replied.

He felt Hannibal’s fingers tighten in his hair, and the hand on his chest clasp his shirt. He heard a soft intake of breath and Hannibal  _ clutched _ him, his grasp desperate, his breaths unraveling. Without further preamble, Will felt the heat of his lips brush against his ear, then to his cheek, where a long, gentle kiss was pressed heavily to his face. Then another, and Will was trembling.

He turned his head to meet Hannibal’s lips. His kiss was forceful, desperate and clingy, as if it indeed were their last kiss, as well as their first. Will felt Hannibal shaking, his hands sliding down his body to trace over his sides, and Will’s own hands responded without consulting his mind at all. 

He pulled Hannibal to him in a rough embrace, bringing the entire weight of the man down on him, and Hannibal clutched him harder, his mouth pressing against him roughly, his teeth slipping against his lips. Will opened his mouth and Hannibal took, a soft groan escaping him. The sound of his voice alighted on Will’s nerves and heat flushed his body. He let his hands start to wander, feeling, needing, suddenly  _ hating _ Hannibal’s fucking three-piece suit. 

He rushed to undo the buttons of the jacket, but barely before he even finished Hannibal was tossing it to the floor. Their eyes met as Hannibal sat up to undo the buttons of his shirt, and Will found his vision drawn to his chest as it was revealed, looking at Hannibal in the way he had always wanted to but had never been able to admit to himself.

When Hannibal returned to him and Will felt his bare skin, all the holding back fell away. He whimpered, his voice betraying him, and Hannibal’s response was to hold him tighter. Will rushed to pull his own shirt over his head and they kissed passionately then, tongues and teeth desperate to taste and suck, hands exploring each other’s bodies eagerly, seeking, learning.

Hannibal moved his lips down to Will’s neck and sucked, pulling his skin into his mouth, deep and rough. He let his teeth graze over Will’s flesh and heat sprang to his cheeks and ears because of it. He tilted his head back and opened to the monster above him, unable to fight his desire to be close any longer. 

Hannibal kissed his way down Will’s chest, his teeth and tongue fully involved in everything his mouth did, tasting Will, sucking him, licking him. He nipped and Will hissed, his fingers clasping Hannibal’s back, nails digging in with desperation. Hannibal’s lips tickled over his stomach and it fluttered, where he rose just enough to admire his scar in the dim light, then lowered to drag his tongue along it.

“Admiring your work?” Will said, trying to snap, but his voice was full of breath and instead he sounded like a lustful teenager. He hadn’t heard his own voice sound like that in years. 

“I do enjoy that I have marked you, yes.” Hannibal said, and it was the first time Will had heard his voice since they crossed this line into intimacy of a new kind. It rumbled through his chest and veins, and when Hannibal’s mouth reached his boxers, they found a very swollen and eager bulge there.

He pushed the heat of his mouth right to it, and Will cried out, bucking his hips up towards Hannibal’s face. He felt him smile, and when his fingers slid up to pull his boxers down, Will gave no protest. The heat of Hannibal’s mouth surrounded him and swallowed him down heartily, Will’s chest heaving as he arched his back, desire crashing over him in waves.

“Hannibal!” he cried, to his chagrin, and he heard a hum of approval, then felt it vibrate through his dick. Hannibal pulled up, sucking all the way, then plunged down again, eagerly pulling Will into his mouth as if he were a delicacy at one of his tables -- though without the biting. Will groaned, frustrated at himself, though caring less and less by the minute. Hannibal’s tongue was lavishing attention upon him, stroking up the side and pressing flat over the head, licking over his most sensitive flesh, lapping at the pre-cum that leaked from the tip. 

Hannibal sucked him down again, and Will moaned. His hips started to rock, and Hannibal’s hands clasped them to encourage him. He kept his hands away, lifted above his head, some tiny part of him still fighting that he wanted this, wanted it so badly he’d basically begged for it. 

Hannibal’s drool slid down and pooled against his pelvis and balls, then dripped over them, making a fine mess of Will Graham. His pulse was erratic and heavy, his eyes fluttering open and then closed again, his mouth groaning like it had never done. Worst of all, his heart was glowing and his body was fucking betraying him; his legs spreading themselves apart, welcoming Hannibal to him. 

Hannibal’s hands slid down his hips to clasp his bare ass, kneading it, massaging it, and Will’s heart shot into his throat. When his fingers moved to spread him open, Will’s only response was to cover his eyes with his arm, his cheeks flushing with heat and shame and want. Hannibal’s mouth left his cock and his tongue made its way down the inside of his thigh, licking in the heat between his balls and leg, until his lips were somewhere no one else had ever touched.

Will jumped at the sensation of a tongue on his sphincter, surprised at just how sensitive it was. Hannibal wasn’t deterred whatsoever and pushed his face in harder, licking, teasing, making Will’s stomach flutter and toes curl, pathetic whimpers leaving his mouth on nearly every exhale. He thought he knew what a tongue felt like, but one that was pushing itself into him at  _ this _ end was an entirely new experience, and he was having it with  _ Hannibal fucking Lecter _ .

Hannibal’s mouth came back up to his cock and sucked him down deep. Will cried out, which left him with no breath left except for a gasp when Hannibal’s finger pushed into him. His chest heaved and his eyes darted wildly around the room. 

“Hannibal. Hannibal.” he said, forgetting everything else, all the emotions that caused him turmoil, lost in the newness and fire that was engulfing him whole. Hannibal stroked him, on the inside, and Will keened, bucking his hips down, then up into his mouth, then down onto his finger again. Hannibal was doing all the work, and yet Will could feel his hum of satisfaction, of desire, of  _ delight _ . There was nothing else in the universe he’d rather be doing, and Will knew that if he went with him, nights like this would become a norm in his life.

If he went with him. It was the first time he’d ever really said the phrase to himself. Not “ran away to Cuba” to escape justice but went  _ with _ Hannibal. To be with him. Will could no longer ignore the glow that had been building in his heart, the sensations in his body overriding his brain so that what he wanted was finally able to shine through.

“Yes.” he said. “Yes, Hannibal.” 

Hannibal sucked, and pushed, and Will keened. He stopped fighting everything and let the pleasure come, now. He let his fingers move to Hannibal’s hair, where he clasped it tightly, and stroked it, lost in how soft it was, how warm, how real. He finally let go, and everything crashed over him as he orgasmed, pulses and pulses of pleasure drowning out all the doubts, all the stupid voices in his head that weren’t his.

Hannibal groaned and drank. His face was nothing but rapture, as if he had lived every moment of his life in order to get exactly to this. He massaged Will gently after he calmed down, until he jerked away from being over-sensitive. He slowly sat up, his eyes half-lidded, face satisfied, and Will gazed dreamily up at him.

Then he saw Hannibal’s expression slowly hardening, and Will frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

Hannibal gently pulled his finger from him and pulled away, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Is this the last…”

“No. Get over here.”

He came as fast as lightning, the heat of his body pressing up along Will’s in the small bed, his arms wrapping around him tightly, and Will held him just as tightly back.

“Why did you wait this long?” Will whispered, and Hannibal let out a small sob-like sound, pressing his face into Will’s neck.

“I was afraid if I pushed you, you would leave again, based on your previous behavior…”

“Fuck my previous behavior.” Will said. “Take me to Cuba, Hannibal.”

Hannibal openly sobbed, then, his face buried deep in Will’s neck, where he felt the wetness of a few tears smear against his skin. He held Hannibal tightly, cursing his old self, even his self from only an hour ago, at how stupid he had been.

He knew he couldn’t live any sort of fulfilling life without Hannibal.

“I still don’t know what I want.” he said. “But I know I want you. Or can’t live without you. Something like that.” Will said. Hannibal pulled back and pressed kiss after kiss after kiss to his face, covering his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. 

“I accept those terms.” Hannibal said, and they lay, holding each other tightly, still unsure of words, still not speaking much. Will figured they had said plenty already. He knew they couldn’t live without each other. As for figuring the rest out, eventually it would come.


End file.
